


death with dignity

by Ejunkiet



Series: soft, unspoken sounds [3]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, I had a lot of emotions after the book 3 demo, Part three of the Soft Nate series, Solomon Verda is nothing if not exact with his timings, bed sharing, shared intimacy (explicit), speculations for book 3, spoilers for the book 3 demo verda route, tenderness and kisses and recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: In the wake of unexpected news, Nate offers comfort. Spoilers for the book 3 demo.--She can’t articulate what she wants, but she knows he understands; can see it in the way his eyes darken, his fingers flexing in her grip. He leans forward to kiss her again, soft, tracing the shape of the word against her lips. “Anything.”
Relationships: Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Series: soft, unspoken sounds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829347
Comments: 42
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been one of those weeks. The E rating is for part two.... enjoy the ride!
> 
> \--
> 
> _But every road leads to an end  
>  Yes every road leads to an end  
> Your apparition passes through me, in the willows and five red hens  
> You'll never see us again_
> 
> death with dignity - sufjan stevens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Let me take you home," he says, asks. It’s phrased as a gentle request, but his hands tell another story, anchoring at her neck, thumbs sweeping along her throat as he leans in closer, reluctant to part from her fully._

She’s - she’s slipping.

It’s been a long time coming, and it didn’t need the cascade of _shit_ she’d had to deal with today to reach this point - to leave her _here_ , curled over the desk in her office, hands gripping the edges of it, her eyes hot and burning as she swallows hard against the lump in her throat and tightens her nails against the grain.

There’s a faint sound at the door - a knock, she thinks, although she ignores it, eyes screwed up tightly, the words blurred with moisture as she reads and rereads the tablet in front of her, glaringly bright in the falling dusk - reads his careful wording, the message polite and perfunctory.

_-although I’ve enjoyed the time I have spent here … I regret to inform you that circumstances outside of my control … led me to formally hand in my notice as chief pathologist of the Wayhaven Police Department._

The timestamp is marked 7.45pm, precisely fifteen minutes before the end of her shift. 

Solomon Verda was nothing if not _exact_ with his timings.

She shouldn't have encouraged his research. She shouldn't have been so selfish to push him towards the truth- just so that she can, what? Feel a little less alone in this? Make up for that yawning gap between her and Rebecca, that well of deep-seated trust issues, by dragging her closest friend into the mess?

She remembers the last conversation she had with him, the way he could barely even look at her for more than a second - she remembers the confrontation at the carnivale, and how he'd asked his husband to stay back, Cara and Lacy easily distracted by his side.

_(“I wish I’d never discovered the truth.”)_

She's made a lot of stupid mistakes in her life, but it’s always been - self directed. Self-inflicted, almost. Limited to no collateral.

This - the damage of it spreads like a poison, subtle and insidious, the consequences more far reaching than she could have imagined - and the guilt of it burns in her chest, a physical ache that steals her breath from her lungs.

She’d known his reasons for moving here - she knows just how much his family meant to him, and what he’d do to keep them safe.

She should have kept her fucking mouth shut.

There’s another knock at the door, more insistent this time, the sound loud in the stifling silence of her office, and she lets out a muted growl before replying, hating the way her voice chokes, _"Not right now."_

There’s a pause, and she lets out a breath, swiping angrily at her eyes as the heat overflows, spilling onto her cheeks, and she hasn’t earned this self-pity, hasn’t earned the right to be a mess - before the door opens with a soft snick, and she looks up, gritting her teeth and swallowing hard against the lump in her throat that threatens to choke her. _"I said-"_

"Emma." His voice is soft, gentle and instantly recognisable, and even through blurred vision, she can easily recognise the shape of him silhouetted against the harsh fluorescent lighting, the way he holds himself as he steps through the door. 

_“Nate.”_ It’s said on an exhale, almost a sigh, and still her breath catches as she swallows, trying to refind her equilibrium. “I’m - sorry."

There's a blur of movement, bringing with it a rush of air and the scent of pastries and freshly brewed coffee. The paper bag crinkles in his grip, the familiar logo of Hayley’s bakery smiling from the packaging as he places it down on the desk, before he's reaching for her, drawing her into his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his hand on her back, the other tangled in her hair, and she’s trembling as she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to remember how to breathe. “What happened?”

“I-” she breaks off, shaking her head as she twists her fingers tighter into the back of his shirt - and she can’t put this into words, not here, not right now. She hides her face in his neck, breathing in the earthen, familiar scent of him, the heat of him against her as he holds her close, arms wrapped around her tight.

He doesn’t ask her about it again. 

The bright screen of the tablet has gone dark when he finally pulls back, the device powering down after a period of inactivity, and Nate moves it to the side carefully before taking its place on the desk before her, perching against the edge as his hands move to cup her face.

She closes her eyes at the touch, feeling the warm sweep of his thumbs across her cheeks, smudging the damp tracks of tears, before he leans in, his warm breath soft against her cheeks as he presses a soft kiss against her eyelids.

“I'm here, whatever you need."

With a shaky exhale, she reaches out, fingers curling in his shirt to pull him closer as he trails soft kisses across her cheeks, her jaw, the edge of her mouth, before finally meeting her lips with his own.

Kissing him feels like coming home. He kisses her with a gentleness that steals her breath, makes her chest constrict as his fingers trace along her cheeks, winding into her hair as he brings her closer, and she settles into him, the warmth of his embrace, the steady weight of him, solid and real and _here_.

She could spend the rest of eternity here: his mouth on hers, his arms anchoring, keeping her together, even as she threatens to break entirely.

It’s a long moment later that they part for breath - for her sake, of course, although she wishes she could do without it as he draws back, dark eyes soft and glimmering in the light from her screensaver, as he takes her in, her pale cheeks and smudged mascara, the purple shadows that darken the skin beneath her eyes. She can’t imagine just how much of a mess she must look.

(On second thought, she knows _exactly_ how much of a mess she is at this moment. She’d seen herself in the mirror this morning, and she knows just how drained she looks - she feels it, the drag of it, in the weight of her limbs, the pressure an oppressive thing inside her head that thumps in time with her heartbeat.)

"Let me take you home," he says, asks. It's phrased as a gentle request, but his hands tell another story, anchoring at her neck, thumbs sweeping along her throat as he leans in closer, reluctant to part from her fully. 

He must be able to feel the rapid pace of her heart beneath his fingertips, hear the rush of her blood through her ears, the way it muffles the sound of everything else except for _him_.

“Yes,” she manages to say, and he grabs her jacket and the bag from Hayley’s bakery, although he leaves the coffee, and she can throw it out tomorrow, if she remembers - before he slides his arm around her waist, pressing another soft kiss against her hair as he draws her to the door.

He wastes no time as he leads them out of the office and through the main hall, past the empty front desk, until they’re outside in the lingering heat of the day, the setting sun hanging low on the horizon, fat and golden, drawing out their shadows, long fingers of darkness in the growing dusk.

(His arm leaves her waist then, his hand finding her own, and she grips him tight, afraid of what might happen if she lets go.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Hush…" his voice is low, quiet in the dim twilight of her apartment, as he moves his mouth to her ear, kissing the tip of it, soft and intimate. "Let me take care of you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the _comfort_ part of this fic. Rating has uh, gone up.

It doesn't take them long to reach her apartment. 

She doesn't remember much of the journey back from the station. Just fragments, sensations; the memories unclear and indistinct. Walking, the summer evening air warm on her face. The heat of Nate at her side, the steady, solid presence of him. Even with the setting sun, her jacket had been unnecessary, hanging from the crook of his arm, brushing against her knee with every other step.

His hand had stayed curled within hers the entire way, the contact only breaking once they arrive at the outside of her building and she’d had to fumble for her keys, but even then, his touch had remained with her - a hand on the small of her back as they made it up the stairs, curled at her hip as they reach her apartment.

He follows her inside without her having to ask, and she’s grateful for it. She feels as if she can think easier within the space, the neat _snick_ of the closing door effectively shutting off the rest of the world, giving her space to breathe, recenter herself.

Kicking off her shoes by the door, she leaves him beside the kitchen island as she makes her way into her bedroom, grabbing her sleepwear from off the bed before stumbling into the ensuite.

Splashing water on her face, she levels a stare at herself in the mirror. She doesn’t look quite as bad as she’d feared, but she still looks exhausted, the shadows beneath her eyes dark as bruises without the coverage of her makeup, the skin beneath pale and sallow in the harsh lighting.

She washes her face, changes, each act providing her that additional layer of sanity, of _normalcy_. 

When she’s ready, she takes a deep, steadying breath and exits the bathroom.

Nate’s waiting for her in the doorway to the bedroom, his jacket in his hands, uncertainty written across his features. She holds out a hand, and he comes to her.

She’s wearing her favourite pajamas, the soft green ones she’d been given as a gift from Felix for her birthday last month. She can tell from the quality of the cloth that they’re expensive, and that they must have held some sort of significance, given the way his eyes had gleamed when he’d handed them over. 

An odd choice of gift but very much welcomed, and she’s grateful for its soft comfort now.

She hadn’t missed the way Nate’s eyes had darkened when he had first seen her wearing it, one early morning when he’d dropped by on his patrol. She _knows_ that there’s more to the story here, although she hasn’t yet found the time to _ask._

She doesn't miss the way he looks at her _now,_ as his hands grip hers, thumbs rubbing small circles on the sliver of skin visible at her wrist.

He offers her a soft smile, inclining his head towards the bed. “Let me tuck you in?”

It’s phrased as a question, but he’s already walking towards the bed, guiding her along with him. She climbs into the sheets, and the mattress dips beneath his knee as he leans over her, keeping to his word as he tugs up the blanket around her. 

Leaning forward, he presses a gentle kiss against her forehead, and she can feel the soft rush of his breath, his lips soft and warm, and when he pulls back to meet her gaze, his eyes are a warm, rich chocolate, deep enough that she feels as if she can lose herself within them. 

Reaching out, he brushes a wayward strand of hair away from her face. “Rest. Take as long as you need.”

He moves to leave, and she catches his wrist, stops him from pulling away completely. 

"Stay with me. Please."

He looks at her, and the gentle concern is back, deepening the furrow between his brows as his hand covers her own, his thumb smoothing across the skin of her wrist until they rest against her pulse, tracking the changes in her heartbeat. As if he couldn’t hear it already.

She finds it hard to breathe when he looks at her like that, but she can’t look away. He’s waiting for a reason, and explanation - and again, she can’t give it to him. She can’t describe what she wants, just that she needs him to be _here_. "Just- for a little while."

He eases back down onto the edge of the mattress, the springs creaking slightly under his weight, his knee brushing against her thigh as he settles on the duvet beside her. 

He looks at home here, in her room, a place she has wanted him ever since that night before the Thralls had ambushed them at her apartment. The warm colours he wears complements the faded rug and the soft fabric panels that line the walls, colourful woven artwork that she’d inherited from her family, a memento of a father, a life, she’d never known.

But there’s no disguising the fact that Nate is too large for this size of bed, his legs splayed before him even as she shifts to the side to give him more room. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, the guilt flaring, hot and sharp, in her gut, and she feels - ridiculous, all of a sudden. _Childish_ , leaning on him like a crutch.

Some of it must show on her face as he reaches out to her, his touch light as he tucks a few wayward strands of hair behind her ears, before settling at the base of her neck, warm and anchoring. "I'm yours, for however long you need me."

He holds her gaze, his dark eyes steady and honest - _he’s always so_ open _with her_ \- and she can see that he means it, even as it makes something within her _ache._ She’s - not good at this. Letting other people in. 

But for him, she’s willing to try. 

He twists his hand in her grip until their fingers interlace, squeezing for a moment before he draws back, shrugging out of his overshirt. With efficient, methodical movements, he removes the shirt beneath that as well until all he's left in is a light cotton vest and the soft linen pants he’d taken to wearing in the warmer months.

He bends down to untie his laces and she can’t resist leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the slope of his shoulder, his skin warm beneath her lips, and she can feel his shiver as he turns his head towards her, brushing another kiss against her brow.

When he's ready, he turns back to her, his gaze flickering over her, assessing, before he speaks again.

"If you get beneath the blankets, I'll join you." He pauses, dark eyes meeting hers again. "If that's okay."

In lieu of a response, she leans forward until she can kiss him again, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt, communicating her need without words. 

He sighs into the kiss, movements slow and careful as he eases forward onto the mattress, and she kicks down the blankets he’d so carefully drawn around her, bringing him down with her.

Trailing kisses along her cheek, he nudges her onto her side before he settles into the sheets beside her, arms wrapping around her waist, his palms warm against her skin as he pulls her into his chest.

His breath is warm against her neck as he presses another soft kiss just behind her ear, before he murmurs, “Rest. I’ll be here if you need me.”

Settling back into the warmth of his embrace, she lets out a long breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s happened and just - letting go. She will deal with it in the morning, and when she does, she won’t be alone.

It’s not something she’s used to, having someone to rely on like this - but it’s good.

It doesn’t take long for the day to catch up with her, exhaustion dragging at the edges of her consciousness, and within a few minutes, she’s out, lost within the depths of sleep.

\--

Sometime later (although it only feels like a few moments), she wakes up to a darkened apartment, alone.

It’s still dark outside, the sky a dusky blue, a portent of the coming dawn, and she’s curled into the mess of her sheets, the space behind her warm under her searching hand, and a thread of tension eases within her chest as she hears the sound of running water from the vicinity of the kitchen. He hasn’t left, just yet.

She sits up at the sound of gentle footsteps, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and turns towards the doorway just as Nate reappears, a glass of water in each hand. He’s in the same state of undress as he had been earlier, socked feet soft on the hardwood flooring, and his eyes widen when he sees that she’s awake, a flicker of regret crossing his features.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Placing the water on the waiting coasters on her bedside table, he leans forward to run his hand through her hair, perching on the edge of the mattress once again.

“Nate.” She reaches out to him, her hand settling on his knee, rubbing her thumb along the soft fabric. “Come back to bed. Please.”

His dark eyes gleam with affection, a small smile on his lips as he presses another kiss to her cheek. “Of course.”

Easing beneath the sheets, he slips back into place behind her, gathering her back into his arms.

“I’m sorry for keeping you,” she whispers, and it’s a secret she’s been harbouring all night - how she needs him, but she _shouldn’t_ , and his grip on her tightens, pulling her in closer.

“You will never need to apologise to me for that. _Ever._ ” He whispers the last word, his breath hot against her neck, before he presses a kiss between her shoulder blades, right on the curve of her spine, his hand curling at her hip, and the dormant heat that's been curling in her gut flickers into sudden, brilliant life.

Her breath hitches as she presses against him, and he pauses. His touch is a burning brand against her skin, his fingers flexing, before he leans forward to catch her gaze. “Emma.”

They look at each other for a long moment before she reaches for his hand, pressing it against her hip, her heart beating a rapid rhythm within the confines of her chest. “Please.” 

She can’t articulate what she wants, but she knows he understands; can see it in the way his eyes darken, his fingers flexing in her grip. He leans forward to kiss her again, soft, tracing the shape of the word against her lips. _“Anything.”_

His hands are slow and purposeful as they navigate her body, warm palms leaving searing trails of heat in their wake as he presses his mouth to her shoulder, forging a path of soft kisses against her skin. His hands move lower, curling against her stomach, her abdomen, settling there.

He traces the edge of her hip bone with his thumb, learning the shape of it in broad, sweeping movements that warm her skin, setting her alight beneath it, before he reaches down, past the edge of her underwear, down to the very center of her until he covers her sex.

She arches under his touch, her breath shuddering out of her in a shaky exhale. _"Nate."_

"Hush…" his voice is low, quiet in the dim twilight of her apartment, as he moves his mouth to her ear, kissing the tip of it, and her breath catches as he applies pressure, grinding with the heel of his hand until she rocks against him. "Let me take care of you."

He leans over her then until she can see him, his eyes impossibly dark, pupils blown until they swallow the rich chocolate of his irises, and he kisses her, slow and deep, before he tilts his head down, mouthing at the edge of her jaw, pressing a soft kiss to the line of her throat.

His fingers curl, dipping into her, testing, and she shudders beneath him, her cheeks flushed and hot as she bites into her lower lip to stifle a moan, and _god_ , he can take her apart with barely more than a _touch._

“Emma,” he murmurs against her skin, and she shivers again, swallowing a whine when he pulls away, pressing another soft kiss to her jaw. _“Asheghetam azizam_. _”_

His free hand curls at her hip before sliding up into her shirt, his touch warm and sweeping as he navigates her abdomen, her stomach, tracing his fingers along her ribs before palming her breast.

With a soft gasp, she presses against him, his mouth wet and hot against her shoulder, whispering words she can barely hear, let alone understand. She’s - she’s on the edge, and she feels tight, her skin a size too small as he explores her with his fingers, applying steady pressure as he moves in sure, confident circles that make her breath hitch and her skin tingle as her blood rushes through her veins. 

_“Nate-”_ you’re going to kill me, is what she wants to say, but he meets her lips again, soothing her with a kiss. She grips his forearm as he increases the pace, nails digging into the muscle as she arches against him, and she wants to _touch him,_ but she can barely think, let alone speak- 

“Nate- _please.”_

His eyes are dark, filled with an unfathomable heat as he hastens his efforts, his kisses consuming, overwhelming as he swallows the sounds that escape her, little moans and gasps as she shudders, everything winding and tightening until he breaks away -

_“It’s okay, I’ve got you, let go-”_

\- and she shatters under his touch. He gentles his motions, working her through it, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks, her brow, her eyelids as she closes them and tries to remember how to _breathe_.

She turns in his arms until she can kiss him properly, tangling her fingers into his hair as she pulls him closer, and she can feel the hot, hard line of him against her stomach, and she can’t help the way she rolls against him, craving more of him-

She's breathless as she breaks away from the kiss and meets his gaze, and she feels bold enough to make a request of her own. “Let me return the favour.”

His breath shudders out of him, his eyes impossibly dark as she trails a hand down his chest, mapping the lines of him, his skin warm and quivering under her touch.

_“Emma-”_

He cuts himself off with a choked gasp as she reaches down, dragging her fingers along his stomach, brushing against the fastenings of his pants, and she holds his stare, asking again. “Please?”

_“Yes.”_

She makes short work of the string tie, slipping her hand beneath the waistband as she takes him in hand, and he lets out a shuddering breath, bowing forward until he rests his head against hers, cheeks flushed and dark. He releases a soft moan as she explores him, fingers light against the length of him, rocking against her hand as she grasps him-

 _“Emma.”_ He sounds - pained, exhilarated, as she tightens her grip and begins to move, watching the changes in his expression as he comes undone beneath her hands, biting into his lip as his breaths come shorter, and he’s beautiful, like this. 

He’s always beautiful, with his dark hair and dark eyes and bone structure cut from marble, but now he is hers, however unlikely the thought, and she is his, and - and she thinks she might love him.

She brings her mouth to his again, needing to taste him, feel him in this moment, as her hand moves faster and his hands reach for her hips, curling into her until they’re attached from hip-to-thigh and they’re both moving, clutching at each other as she brings him closer to completion-

He comes apart under her hands with a soft sigh, his breath warm against her lips, and she kisses him again, soft and chaste, touching him gently until his hips jerk away. Trailing her fingers along his skin, she traces the outline of his hip bone as he catches his breath.

His shirt is rucked up around his chest, and she tugs it up until she can remove it completely, using it to clean up the mess on his stomach before leaning down to press her lips against him, the muscles beneath her mouth fluttering at the touch.

His hand settles in her hair, tangling among the strands as he brings her up to kiss her properly, his other arm wrapping around her waist until their bodies are flush once more.

They spend a moment like this, breathing together, before she lets out a breath, exhaustion dragging at her as she tries and fails to stifle a yawn, a chuckle escaping him as he catches the movement.

“Rest _moosh moosh-am,_ ” he murmurs, brushing another kiss against her forehead, and she can’t find the energy to be mad at the way amusement curls around the words. “I’ve got you.”

Here, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, she believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Farsi is definitely a product of the wonderful evil_bunny_king's HC, and translates to:
> 
>  _Asheghetam azizam_ \- I'll let you look this one up.  
>  _moosh moosh-am_ \- mousey mouse (this is adorable fhjakhd)
> 
> I'm considering doing a sequel to this? Maybe? (let me know your thoughts!)


	3. epilogue: the origin of the green pajamas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Have I mentioned how much I like seeing you in my clothes?”_
> 
> _Her breath catches. “Your clothes?”_
> 
> _His eyes darken as he watches her, a smile curving at his own lips. “Yes.” His fingers find the sleeve, tugging absently as his gaze trails along her form. “Custom made, by my tailor in London.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter that's been sitting in my docs for _too long._

Emma loves mornings like this.

Slow to wake, and lazy, the early morning sun flooding the apartment with golden light as they lay curled together in her sheets, the feeling of warmth and safety that comes from waking up in the arms of someone she cares about. 

(Once, that would have been her mother, back when she was younger, much younger, during the rare instances when she’d come home from a shift and Emma was still awake enough to notice. 

She’d leave her room and crawl with her into her big double bed, more than big enough for the two of them, and Rebecca would laugh, soft and low, as she shucked her heels and pulled the tie from her hair and settled down beside her.

“Just this once,” she’d murmur, brushing her hair back from her forehead and placing a soft kiss there. 

It was the same every time.)

These memories from her childhood are bittersweet, the rosy glow crumbling in the face of reality: that her absence had been a choice. Had always been a choice.

His arm shifts around her, sliding from her hip to curl around her stomach, bringing her in closer against him, the heat of him a fiery brand against her back. The memories of the day before encroach upon the moment, dark and looming, but she pushes them away, for just a little while longer.

She loses herself in the rhythm of him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, before his mouth lowers to her ear, voice low, breaking her from her thoughts. 

“What are you thinking?”

She responds with a low hum, tilting her head until she can bury her face against the warm planes of his shoulder, a small smile curling her lips as he shifts even closer, warm palms trailing along her skin.

“That we should probably get up.”

He hums a small assent. “Perhaps.”

His hand traces up her arm, his touch light, fingertips brushing against her skin, almost tickling until they come up against the cuff of her nightshirt, slipping beneath the cool, silken fabric, before trailing back down to her wrists.

“But we could also stay. Call in sick.”

Keeping his touch gentle, he takes her hand within both of his, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the center of her palm, and she indulges the thought, the whimsy. Leaving it all behind.

Keeping her voice light, she points out the obvious, “I thought vampires couldn’t get sick.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his voice warm as he elaborates, “Lovesick, in your absence.”

Leaning in, he lifts her captured hand to his lips and brushes a soft kiss against the back of her fingers. His breath is warm against her knuckles, and when she glances up to meet his gaze, his eyes are soft, a glittering, deep chocolate, as warm as the sun streaming in from the window.

She’s breathless, despite herself. “Oh, we wouldn’t want that.”

He grins then, a flash of gleaming white teeth, before he leans forward, pressing her back onto the bed, cushioned by billowy softness of pillows filled with feather down - a gift from him, of course, and an expensive one at that.

His mouth weaves a trail of burning kisses, leaving embers in its wake: the inside of her wrist, the curve of her elbow, just below the sleeve. The slope of her shoulder, after his clever fingers work the buttons of her shirt, pushing the soft material back far enough for his mouth to reach. 

He reaches the base of her throat, where her clavicle dips to meet her breastbone, his breath a hot gust against her skin, and she suppresses a shiver.

“Have I mentioned how much I like seeing you in my clothes?”

Her breath catches. “Your clothes?”

His eyes darken as watches her, taking in the way her body reacts to his touch, a slow smile curving up the corners of his mouth. “Yes.” His fingers find the sleeve, tugging absently as his gaze trails along her form. “Custom made, by my tailor in London.”

Leaning in, he brushes his mouth against the curve of her breast. “I like seeing you in them.”

Her heart stutters as he presses a soft kiss there, a hint of teeth whispering against her skin, and she gives a muted gasp, her hand rising to tangle within the dark strands of his hair. 

“Can I show you?”

The question isn’t fair. He is being wonderfully, _sinfully_ distracting, and there are - things she has to do, matters that need to be addressed - but these are things that will remain unchanged, she realises, if they are left for a few hours longer. 

It’s easy, then, to succumb to the gentle seduction of his touch.

_“Yes.”_

His smile curves against her skin, gentle and _knowing_ , even as his mouth presses against her skin once more, mapping a wandering path across her ribs, down her stomach, her breath catching as his fingers slip beneath the waistband, tugging them down low enough to press a kiss against the inside of her hip.

“Nate,” she starts as he lingers there, working at the point with lips and teeth and tongue until she’s _sure_ that he’s left a mark, a reminder of him, to carry on her skin. _“Please.”_

He draws back, his warm eyes meeting hers, and there is a softness there, quiet and tempered, that she’s only ever seen him with around her. “I'm yours.”

They pass a few more warm hours like this, until duty and responsibility separate them once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & comments greatly appreciated - find me on tumblr as ejunkiet!


End file.
